


Golem (He just looked so lovely, you see)

by Anna_Hopkins, Chaotic_Smutty (Anna_Hopkins)



Series: Kinkterror, 2019 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Kinkterror, M/M, Necrophilia, Obsessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-11-25 18:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20916521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Anna_Hopkins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Chaotic_Smutty
Summary: (Kinkterror 2019, October 4: Snuff/Necrophilia)He was just sobeautiful. Harry couldn't leave him behind.





	Golem (He just looked so lovely, you see)

**Author's Note:**

> For Kinkterror, day 4: Snuff / Necrophilia.
> 
> Happy birthday to me. ♥

_ Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy's shell. _

_ One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last -- _

_ [...] They moved Voldemort's body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey, and fifty others who had died fighting him. _

(from  _ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _ , Chapter 26: The Flaw In The Plan)

~

When the crowds had begun to subside, when the celebration and the mourning both had begun to quiet down, Harry drew the Cloak over himself and made his way out of the Great Hall, to that chamber. He left the door open, the better to avoid getting anyone's attention, and when he stood once again over the body he had created -- both its beginning and its end -- he pulled off the Cloak, and laid a hand on Voldemort's cold cheek.

"'And the last brother hid from Death,'" Harry murmured, "'until he was satisfied; then he took off the Cloak of Invisibility, and greeted Death as an old friend.'" His thumb traced the smooth, dry cheekbone; the body's eyelid shifted with the movement, opening just a sliver like Voldemort had been only pretending, like he was waiting for the opportunity to sit up and run away. But the eye underneath stared unseeing, and Harry closed the lid again, tracing his fingers over the curious shape of his face.

"You would have never taken off the Cloak, if it could really hide the wearer from death," he observed softly, conversationally. "If it would have stopped the war, I might even have given it to you."

In the diffuse light that shone down from overhead, the body's scales sparkled, and Harry found himself sliding his hand down the side of Voldemort's face to cup his jaw, toying with the soft bit of his ear, and lower, over that long, elegant neck. He splayed his fingers over the body's throat, squeezing experimentally, and toyed with the collar of his black robes.

_Beautiful,_ came the thought, unbidden.

And on the tail of that thought, another:  _ Mine. _

Officially, the Ministry had given custody of Voldemort's body to the Department of Mysteries, thereby depriving the wizarding public of a gravestone they might deface (or, worse, use for ritual magic). Unofficially, the announcement had been made to hide the fact that in the hours between the end of the Battle of Hogwarts and the arrival of the Aurors to secure the corpse, it had somehow... disappeared.

Voldemort was absolutely  _ dead, _ this time, there was no doubt -- witnesses affirmed to the body's existence and dead state -- but try as they might, no one could locate the body. Perhaps, they speculated, someone had burnt it to ash, and Vanished the ashes, as a last bit of revenge.

Harry woke, hours after the Aurors had come and gone from Hogwarts, in the master bedroom of Grimmauld Place; yawning, he stretched out, untangling his arms and legs from the body he'd brought home with him. "Tempus," he muttered; it was sometime around mid-morning, apparently. He rolled onto his side, looping an arm around Voldemort's neck to bring his slack mouth in for a chaste kiss. "Good morning."

Perhaps he was imagining it, but touching the body, skin-to-scales, sent little shivers up his arm. It was wonderful.  _ He  _ was wonderful. Harry curled up with his head on the body's chest and rested a while longer, not quite sleeping, until he had to answer the call of nature. Then, reluctantly, he sat up, got out of bed, and made his way to the master bath, letting Kreacher run him a hot bath.

"Kreacher is wondering what Master intends to do with the corpse in his bed," the house-elf muttered, glancing at the bathroom door while Harry brushed his teeth. "Master will be needing to preserve the tissues soon, unless Master wishes for it to decay."

"Shouldn't it have already started decaying, if it were going to?" Harry wondered, sinking into the hot water with a sigh. "It's been a day or so."

"Kreacher believes so," came the reply. "Kreacher will fetch Master's breakfast..."

Harry tilted his head back into the water, eyes closed, luxuriating in the feel of it. He wondered if Voldemort had ever bathed; did snakes swim? Or did he have servants bathe him, or something? The image had him chuckling, imagining such a scene. Bellatrix, maybe, since she would be particularly  _ thorough  _ in her unsubtle desire to see as much of Voldemort's body as she could --

It occurred to Harry that he hadn't tried undressing the body yet. Pink dusted his cheeks at the idea of stripping away each layer of those black robes; peeling away the dark exterior to get to the smooth white skin underneath. He bit his lip, reaching between his legs in the bath, and took himself lazily in hand, imagining.

When he returned to the bedroom, temporarily sated, Harry climbed back in bed with the body and, slowly but surely, began to remove its outer robes, the flowing black cloak with the billowing sleeves. The fabric was, he found, a bit bloodstained, somewhat dirty; when Harry managed to pull it all the way off, bits of dirt were left behind on the bed. "Kreacher, wash this," Harry ordered, tossing the cloak absently over the side of the bed; the elf caught it and disappeared with it.

Now, the next layer. Harry straddled the body, running his hands down its firm chest. "Stylish," he murmured, eyeing the waistcoat and buttoned shirt that had been beneath the cloak. "I wonder if you'd planned to announce your victory in this."

Harry left the unbuttoned waistcoat splayed out to either side as he began to unfasten the buttons of the shirt; just as he'd imagined, the contrast between the black fabric and unnaturally white skin underneath, when he began to expose it, was  _ breathtaking. _ Voldemort was as beautiful dead as he had been in life; no different at all, Harry found, except to be pliant beneath Harry's hands, utterly unresistant to his explorations.  _ Does he even have genitals? _ Harry wondered, licking his lips as his fingers grazed the belt buckle.  _ Does he have anything down here at all? _

He tugged the bottom of the now-open shirt until it was untucked, too; he could not resist comparing the layers of black to rose petals, not with how they caught the dimmed lamplight. Harry wanted to keep peeling, to take a knife and dig his fingers under the skin, until he could examine Voldemort's innards, put his hands in and take that unfeeling heart in his hand --

_ "Fuck." _ He gasped at the sudden mental image and the wave of desire that it brought out in him. "I could  _ eat  _ you," Harry groaned, fingers digging into narrow, bony hips. "I could do  _ anything I wanted --" _

The bed creaked as Harry shuffled back, fumbling at the belt buckle again with the urgent need to see what was underneath. He wanted to bite every inch of exposed skin, mark the expanse of white like paint on canvas.

_ But then, bodies don't bruise,  _ a small, rational part of Harry pointed out. Did they?

Finally, the belt was coming off. Harry laid it to the side; that smooth, heavy dragonhide was luxurious to the touch. "I'm going to wear it," Harry breathed. "I'll wear  _ all  _ your clothes." He could dress the body in something new, till its scent sunk in, and repeat as long as he liked.  _ Or 'til he and I smell the same. _

Speaking of smells. Harry leaned in, breathing deeply at the junction of Voldemort's neck and shoulders. His eyes closed, blissful, at the mix of what scents he could detect -- none of them, he noticed, were decay.

"Maybe you won't," Harry mouthed against the smooth column of that long neck, his pursuit of unbuttoning set aside for the moment in favor of tasting this body's lovely skin. "Made from magic as you were, this time... maybe this is as dead as you get."

What a wonderful idea.

It was tempting, so tempting, to just pull the sheets up over them and go back to sleep, a little longer, but the Floo chimed downstairs then, interrupting Harry just as he was about to turn his attention back to the buttons on the body's trousers. He scrambled out of bed, grabbing his wand where he'd left it on the nightstand, and pulled on the trousers he'd been wearing yesterday to go answer.

As he descended the stairs, Harry heard Hermione's voice from the parlor. "Kreacher," she was asking, in a simpering voice as though humoring the elf, "is Harry home?"

"Master is busy upstairs," Kreacher croaked, then paused. "Master is arriving in a moment." There was a 'pop', and when Harry stepped into the parlor, Hermione was stood by the Floo, expression quizzical. She perked up when Harry announced himself by yawning.

"I hope I didn't wake you up," his friend smiled. "Kreacher said you were sleeping when I called earlier, and I know how rare that is."

Harry ran his hand through his hair, plopping down onto one of the armchairs and gesturing to Hermione to take the other. "I slept really well, yeah," he agreed. "How's Hogwarts? Did you all go back to the Burrow?"

Hermione's smile turned a bit sad, but she nodded. "They moved Fred's body a bit before dawn, once the Aurors finished listing casualties. Oh! Speaking of Aurors -- you won't believe what happened!"

"What happened?"

"Voldemort's body went missing," she confided in a whisper. "The Ministry is covering it up to prevent a panic, but it's completely  _ gone." _

"He's dead, though," Harry said, leaving no room for doubt.

Hermione nodded. "They think someone burned the corpse and vanished the ashes, so he wouldn't get a grave. Apparently it's a sign of disrespect that's been in place since the Romans --"

Harry let her go on about burial rites for a while, sipping at the tea and crunching on a biscuit from the set Kreacher had provided. So they had discovered Voldemort's body missing; it wasn't like anyone was going to find it. He hid a small smile at that thought behind his teacup.


End file.
